"Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown," said Miss Somers. "Because you are a busy girl and behave well, we wish others to see that such is the conduct we approve."
The shopkeeper was the father of Susan's friend, Rose. He stretched his arm to the highest shelf, then dived into drawers beneath the counter, sparing no pains to show the best goods to his customers.
Susan did not show the interest that might have been expected. She was thinking much of her lamb and more of her father. Miss Somers had put a bright guinea into her hand and told her to pay for her own gown. But Susan felt that this was a great deal of money to spend upon a frock for herself, and yet she did not know how to ask if she might keep it for a better purpose. Although Susan said nothing, Miss Somers read in her face that she was perplexed. "She does not like any of these things," whispered the lady to her sister.
"She seems to be thinking of something else," was the low reply.
"If you do not fancy any of these calicoes," said the shopkeeper to Susan, "we shall have a larger choice soon."
"Oh," answered Susan, with a smile, and a blush, "these are all too good for me, but—"
"But what, Susan?" asked Miss Somers. "Tell us what is passing in your little mind."
Susan said nothing.
"Well then, it does not matter. You do not know us very well yet. When you do, you will not, I am sure, be afraid to be frank. Put the guinea in your pocket and make what use of it you please. From what we know and from what we have heard of you, we are sure you will make a good use of it."
"I think, madam," said the shopkeeper, "I have a pretty good guess what will become of that guinea, but I say nothing."